


Stay Awhile

by charleybradburies



Series: wrap your arms around me [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assumed Relationship, Based on a Tumblr Post, Brother-Sister Relationships, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Party, Christmas Presents, Declarations Of Love, Drabble Sequence, Drinking, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Female-Centric, Friends to Lovers, House Stark, Idiots in Love, Matchmaking, Mistletoe, Misunderstandings, Movie Reference, Multiple Pairings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Multiple, Sexual Tension, Sister-Sister Relationship, Snowed In, Texting, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2849423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is full of interruptions and complications...</p><p>It's the night before Christmas, and the Stark family is stirring. Margaery takes advantage of mistletoe season. Sansa decides to play matchmaker for her sister, and it doesn't go quite as planned. </p><p>Love, actually, is all around. Even when it kicks the shit out of you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay Awhile

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song 'Stay Awhile' by She & Him. Lines in the summary from 'Love Actually'.
> 
> Note: I've made a couple of edits to the text since posting this, mostly grammatical stuff and putting the plot points into the summary. Nothing really major. 
> 
> xx

“MARGAERY TYRELL, COME HERE THIS INSTANT!”

Her scream is answered momentarily by the clack of red high heels on the staircase. _Fuck, she looks so good in those._

Sansa presses the thought from her mind and puts her hands on her hips as the brunette reaches the walk-in. 

“What is it, baby?” Margaery asks with feigned innocence, the deep green of her eyeshadow flickering as she blinks. Sansa points up at the ceiling.

“This is the fifth time today, Margaery,” she says exasperatedly. “Where the fuck is all this mistletoe coming from?”

“Does it matter?” Margaery replies, smirking and leaning against the doorjamb. Sansa sighs. 

“My lipstick will have worn off by the time our party starts!”

“Maybe,” says Margaery, her left hand twirling a lock of hair. “But then you’ll just be wearing my shade.”

“You are _ruthless,_ ” Sansa declares, a grin beginning to taint her annoyed expression.

“You used to love that.” 

“Unfortunately for me, I still do,” she grumbles weakly, shoving a few strands of fallen red hair back behind her shoulder as she cocks her head and lets herself again be swayed by her partner’s titillation. The sound of Margaery’s heels is muffled as she treads the carpet over to Sansa and settles her hands at the redhead’s hips. Sansa shakes her head in another attempt to look disapproving, but the kiss Margaery presses to her lips a moment later is willfully received.

***

“I thought Rickon and Shireen were at her father’s for Christmas Eve,” Margaery shouts, furrowing her brow as she counts and recounts the chairs at their dining room table.

“They are,” Sansa shouts back from the kitchen, and Margaery can practically hear her smirk, so she heads back into the living room, walking just far enough to see Sansa where she’s gingerly putting cookies onto one of their three-tiered trays. 

“I invited someone else,” Sansa continues, obviously trying to explain as little as possible.

“A _special_ someone else?”

“My special someone’s already here, smartass. Someone else’s.”

Margaery tallies the guests in her head. 

_Osha’s been divorced for years, and the only other person not paired up is-_

She gasps.

“Arya is going to _kill_ you.”

***

Jon’s amused enquiry marks the entrance of he and his wife. They’re usually the earliest guests, partly because they live the farthest distance away and stay in a hotel only a few minutes away when they visit, and partly because Jon likes to monopolize the chance to tease his sister without interference. 

“I take it your father’s decided to invest in the mistletoe industry, Miss Tyrell?”

“Not yet, but it is a prolific one. Especially this year,” she replies, trotting over to the door to greet them. Ygritte shrugs her coat off in one easy movement, and pulls Margaery into a side hug. 

“What’s special about this year?” Jon continues, habitually taking both their coats to the closet by the entryway.

“Margaery decided that today was the _perfect_ day to distract me,” Sansa exclaims anxiously, running over to them and hugging them momentarily before heading back to the kitchen.

“See, guests are already arriving, and we aren’t at all ready!”

“Sansa, I’m literally your older brother,” says Jon delicately, following her. “I’ve taken midnight trips to the pharmacy to get you tampons. I can handle a few specks of dust and a couple unfrosted cookies.”

She pulls two cartons of eggnog from the refrigerator and sets them on the counter.

“It’s Christmas. Be a little jolly, for fuck’s sake.”

She turns back around to face him, rolling her eyes, and he pulls a reindeer-ear headband from his bag and shoves it onto her head.

“Christmas Eve, Sansa. Chill the fuck out, get drunk, eat some cookies, kiss your girl, dance to some shitty covers of previously awesome holiday songs…”

She takes a deep breath, working to keep herself from growling at him.

“Fine. I’ll ‘chill out’ tonight. In the meantime, make yourself useful.”

***

Slowly more of their family trickles into the penthouse, all of whom offer to help putting the finishing touches on decorations and dinner. Even Bran, who tends to need Meera’s urging to do his best to engage, pulls Loras and Renly’s little girl Alessandra onto his lap and drives her around the apartment in his chair. 

Kisses and greetings are exchanged, and three bottles of wine have been opened by the time the party’s an hour away, in typical Tyrell-Stark fashion. Just as the cork pops from the fourth, the phone rings, but Sansa sees that Jon answers, and keeps setting up the table.

A moment later he’s at the entrance to the dining room.

“When’d you invite Gendry?”

“Earlier today, why?”

“We’re gonna need another chair. He’s got a plus one.”

“He _what?_ ” Sansa exclaims, nearly breaking the bowl she’s setting on the table, and Jon furrows his brow.

“Is that a bad thing? I mean, it’s not like there isn’t enough food or anything.” 

When she looks up at him, her jaw is set and her left hand’s upon her forehead. She smooths her hair back, breathes as deeply as she can manage - not very - and groans internally when it hits her that she offers reprimand in much the same way as her mother. Jon’s the one who breaks their silence.

“I’m going to save us both the trouble of the other questions and just ask what I fucked up this time.”

“You’ve noticed that there’s mistletoe strewn about this flat, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the first thing-”

“And I presume you’ve heard the term ‘unresolved sexual tension’?”

_“Shit.”_

***

It’s T minus 4 minutes, and the doorbell rings again. Margaery answers the door happily with one hand, Alessandra cradled in her other arm and resting against her hip. The first person she sees is a bubbly girl in a shimmery red dress, with a bottle of champagne and curly black hair sparkled with snow, and as the door opens further Margaery sees that she’s Gendry’s companion. His lips are pursed already - Margaery’s met him enough times to know it’s a sign of agitation - and his red tie hangs loosely against his chest, accented by a green button-down.

“Come on in, stay awhile,” Marg welcomes, ushering them in as Sansa comes to help them out of their coats. 

“Everyone, this is Bella,” Gendry says, his annoyance revealing itself slightly in his tone, though he puts on a smile - the smile turns genuine when little Alessandra waves at him and he waves back. He ruffles her light blonde hair, and she giggles.

“So, where’s the famous Arya?” Bella asks, heading over to the area of the living room where most people are gathered.

“She’s not here yet,” Sansa says, unconcerned. “Give her half an hour, she’ll be here. Maybe a little longer, with the snow.”

“Oh,” Bella replies, visibly disappointed. Jon offers to get her a drink, and returns with a peppermint mocha - Ygritte’s favorite, and thus the only slightly complicated non-alcoholic drink he knows how to make - and she sips it slowly as they all begin to socialize. The abundance of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling complicates some things, but everyone laughs when Bran makes a show of wheeling his chair out from under the mistletoe above Meera multiple times so that she kisses him each time he comes back to her side. 

***

Forty minutes later, once Alessandra’s turned Bran and his chair into Santa’s sleigh, tossing fake flowers at all of the adults as presents, the door flies open again.

“Okay, okay, I’m here, the party can start now,” Arya shouts jokingly, taking her coat to the closet and trying to shake the snow out of her hair. 

“Arya Stark, you are twenty-four years old.”

“And?”

“You should know by now to at least wear a hat when it is snowing outside!” 

Sansa rushes over to her, grabbing one of the holiday-themed hand towels hanging by the kitchen sink and wrapping it like a scarf around her sister’s neck.

“Oh, calm down, Mom. I’m fine.”

Sansa sighs, and Bella pops up from her seat, going over to the entryway and pulling Arya into a hug.

“Sorry, that’s probably way too forward. I just hear about you so much, I feel like I already know you!” she exclaims after realizing that she’s made Arya uncomfortable and pulls away. Arya’s confusion stays on her face until she hears Gendry.

“She’s with me,” he says, and Arya practically glares at him, though she’s quick to turn her expression to a teasing one. “Bella, Arya. Arya, Bella.”

“Yeah, and who invited _you?_ ”

“That would be me,” Sansa interrupts, handing off a bowl of salad to Arya.

“Seriously? I just got here, and you’ve already put me to work?”

“You do the same damn thing every year, Arya. Hush.”

“Ah, yes. My civic duty as the salad bearer.”

Sansa sends her a pointed look.

“I’m going, I’m going. I’m bearing the salad. Chill.”

***

Sansa’s sure she’s never been present at a more awkward Christmas dinner - and considering that she’s including the year she’d unintentionally come out to her immediate family and Rickon asked her how lesbian sex worked in front of their extended family and a couple of their father’s business partners, that was saying something. 

Bella is easily, far too easily, affectionate with Gendry, and multiple times Sansa can see Arya curse under her breath, all the while fidgeting and adjusting her sweater. Barely anyone seems to notice that she’s quieter than usual, but Sansa knows that those who do are cognizant of the cause, and so it goes that no one brings it up. She’s grateful that no one does, as she’s on edge waiting for the catfight, and watching the two young women size each other up is uncomfortable enough. 

She can feel her heart beat nearly through her chest when Arya starts to push her chair back, but she grabs her plate and her glass of wine and heads into the kitchen, and Sansa follows. 

“Hey, sorry. I’m just, I’m really not feeling very well today. I think it’d be best if I just went home,” Arya says softly, rinsing her plate and putting it in the dishwasher before downing the rest of the wine. Arya pulls her phone out and Sansa can see her chauffeur’s name as she types out a text. She feigns a smile and lets Sansa give her a gentle hug before putting her coat back on and heading out the door. 

***

The rest of the night is not much less awkward, but it does pass more quickly, and Margaery is thankful. Alessandra’s queries and declarations are universally entertaining, and Bran’s skills as a pianist are impressive. 

It’s nearly a quarter past eleven, when Meera and Bella are engrossed in a conversation, that texts from Gendry start to pop up on Sansa’s phone. Sansa’s leaning back against her on the chaise in the piano room, and Margaery looks down upon their discussion.

g: how is she?

s: what do u mean?

g: sansa u know what i mean

s: her stomachs not feeling well ok

g: not ok i know arya and thats bullshit

g: shes not even responding to me so somethings def wrong

s: yes and i wonder what that is

g: pls enlighten me

s: srsly? srsly? look at urself

g: wait wtf i doing

s: ever heard the expression ring someones bells

g: yeah ofc what does that have to do with

g: shit shit shit shit

s: ur telling me

g: bellas my sister

s: UR WHAT

g: 1-10 how bad did i fuck this up

s: pretty sure u passed 8

g: make sure bella gets 2 my place ok

s: ????

g: i have a small angry adorable woman to go reckon with

s: copy that

g: u better cos im leavin either way

s: dont tell me what to do this is my house

g: this isnt even a house

s: shut up and go tell my sister u love her ok

The read receipt shows up on Sansa’s screen, but Gendry doesn’t reply. 

***

“You know, if your stomach hurts, you shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Fuck off.”

“Not an option.”

“You might have a key, but this isn’t your apartment, Gendry. Go away.”

She knows he isn’t going to leave, but she won't take it lightly today. Serves him right. 

The lights in her flat are still on their dimmest setting, and he doesn’t bother to change that. He knows the place well enough that he can probably tell which stool she’s sitting on at her kitchen counter, even though he’s standing at the door on the other side of the living room. She nurses her beer and tries to ignore the fact that her phone continues to ding because of unanswered texts that she knows have to be from him. 

“She’s my sister,” he says eventually, still across the room, leaning back against the wall, and Arya almost drops her beer.

“Come again?”

“Bella. She’s my sister. She doesn’t live close by, and we don’t see her very often. She drops in every once in a while and tags along with Mya and I for a couple of days and then leaves again. I don’t even know what she does for a living anymore. She was a stripper last time we saw her, almost four years ago. I didn’t - I hadn’t thought I needed to qualify that she wasn't - I’m sorry, Arya.”

His voice is soft, but she can hear the tension in it, and it makes it harder to be angry at him. Much, much harder. Hard enough that she doesn’t even dare respond lest she do something even more stupid than she’s already done. She’s met her stupid quota for the day.

Another moment is spent in silence before he pushes himself back onto his feet and heads over to her. He takes the barstool next to her, and she gulps, praying he doesn’t hear.

“I, um, I brought your Christmas present,” he continues, reaching into his coat.

“The other day you said my present was big. Things that fit in a pocket don’t usually qualify as big," she says, trying to be teasing, and failing miserably. 

“Trust me, it is.”

He lays a small box on the counter and gestures towards it, and as she moves her beer aside she works to keep her breath steady. She meets his eyes, and he looks just as apprehensive as she feels, so she unties the ribbon and pulls the top of the box off. The box inside it is very obviously a jewelry box, and she looks back at him with wide eyes. 

“Back when, um, Robb and Talisa were getting together, your mother talked about these, and in the context, it seemed like a relatively good idea.”

She pulls the jewelry box out of the box it was packed in, and he lowers his head, looking to the floor as though making sure he had enough faith in whatever he’d planned to tell her to say it. As unsure as they both seem, when she rests her palm on the counter, his hand comes to rest upon hers but a moment later.

“Arya…” he starts again, and she can tell that as he keeps speaking, his voice will falter. “We’ve been dancing around this for years now, and I’m getting tired of it.” 

She gulps.

“I’m tired of movies spent on opposite ends of the couch because it turns out the one we rented was actually a romantic comedy and it’s too hard to sit next to each other and not do anything...of hesitating before answering people when they assume that we’re together, because in that split second it hits me just how badly I’d like to tell them that we are...of going around in circles all the time because we’re both so scared of what might happen if we just stop pretending that best friends is the best way to describe whatever it is that we are. Because I’m never going to look at you and feel the way that people feel about their best friends, okay? Every time I ruffle your hair I have to stop myself from imagining what it would look like on my pillow, and I went with you to Jon and Ygritte’s wedding and I sat there watching you trip over your feet dancing with your dad and I wanted to know what you’d look like doing it in a wedding dress, and I just…can’t keep pretending.”

Both of their faces are wet from the tears that have begun to stream down, and even as he pauses and she opens her mouth to speak, she can’t make any sound. She wipes away some of her tears with her sweater, but concluding that won’t be sufficient, she slides off her stool and grabs the box of Kleenex sitting next to the sink, setting it between them as she takes her seat again. 

His voice is still tender when he speaks again, but less raw.

“I realize that I could be totally off base with this and the only reason you can’t say anything is that I’m _actually_ just a blithering idiot in love with his best friend, but I…I needed you to know.”

She pulls the box off the counter, setting it in her lap and opening it, allowing herself to let out a light gasp. It’s exactly what she’d thought he’d been talking about, one of the Claddagh rings her mother had recommended that Robb get Talisa when they wanted to confirm that they were going steady, and her breathing is surprisingly even as she pulls the ring from the slit holding it in place. She lets a weak smile crease her lips.

“It’s the um, right hand with the point towards the wrist, right? For…being in a relationship.”

Gendry smiles, nodding, and puts his hand out.

“Oh, that traditional, are we?” she jests, though she lays it in his hand.

“Shut up,” he replies playfully, sliding the ring into place on her right ring finger.

“You know...if I didn’t feel the same way, this would have been a really _shitty_ Christmas present.”

They spend a moment laughing, and he’s - finally - leaning forward to kiss her when her phone buzzes again, and this time, it sounds urgent.

“Isn’t that-”

“Emergency warning,” she finishes, hopping off her stool and going over to her coat closet to pull her phone from her jacket. As soon as she sees the notification, she starts to laugh again.

“What?”

“There’s, um, there is a winter storm warning. And it will apparently be unsafe to be outside until roughly ten tomorrow morning.”

"Merry Christmas to us."

"Shut up," she says, and turns her phone fully off, stuffing it back into her jacket pocket and heading to the living room. She switches the TV on and takes a seat on her couch.

" _Love Actually_ is one of the best Christmas movies ever made, and it's hella romantic," she coaxes.

"You've seen that movie enough times to quote it verbatim."

"Exactly. I won't miss anything. Win-win."

With a chuckle, he pours out the last couple sips of her previous beer and grabs two cold ones from the fridge, coming to sit down next to her.

This time, when he leans in to kiss her, there's no interruption, and it's sweet and soft and then it's deep and hot and _gods, why didn't they just do this sooner_ and _holy shit she's in a dress and his hands are on her thighs_ and _this is properly wild_ and _this is indubitably the greatest Christmas **ever.**_


End file.
